


Genetic History

by Myracuulous



Series: A Matter of Genetics [1]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Action/Adventure, F/F, Kid Fic, Past Relationship(s), Trans Female Character, but expect mostly Angela/Moira, shameless fluff, tagging characters with speaking roles as they show up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-04
Updated: 2018-01-12
Packaged: 2019-02-28 01:41:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 11,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13260945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Myracuulous/pseuds/Myracuulous
Summary: Dr. Angela Ziegler hasn’t seen Dr. Moira O'Deorain in person since they broke up, nine years ago. Old friends and medical miracles draw her into protecting the Oasis Minister of Genetics, and an unexpected nine-year-old attaché.





	1. I. Just Like Old Times

**Author's Note:**

> Expect eventual action, a little romance, fluff, and a fairly upbeat ending. Rating is an estimation, but I don't tend to write anything explicit. Judging by the outline, I think this will be about 10-12 parts and 10-15K, if I manage to finish. Wish me luck!

"Oasis. You want me to protect Oasis."

"Just their representative, Angela. The conference is in Los Angeles." Dr. Angela Ziegler sat across from the genetically modified gorilla who was talking to her in-between sips of tea, and it had been decades since she'd found that strange. "Neither of us agree with the Ministries' methods, but if even half the intel we've found is true, this is the best move that Overwatch can make."

"I came here for lunch, and to catch up on old times, Winston." Angela put down her own cup, rested her forehead in her fingers. "I never agreed to come back to Overwatch."

"The best move you can make, then. To help people."

"And what does your intel say I'd be helping with?"

Winston reached over to the desk behind him, opening a drawer and pulling out a carefully prepared file folder. Neatly labeled with her name, she noticed. Presumptuous ape. "The International Convention for Experimental Medical Advancements is held once a year. You used to attend fairly regularly, didn't you?"

"Of course, I presented some of my best work there." Back when she'd actually been doing medical research, the kind that wasn't classified. Instead of running around in a high-tech angel costume trying to forget the sins of her past, but that was a whole other conversation to be avoided.

"This year, Oasis is sending a representative for the first time. They've been trying to clean up their international image, paint themselves as a benign technocracy, and who knows? Maybe they even mean it. Right now, it means they're volunteering to share cures to over two dozen rare disorders, tested and perfected in their city's hospitals. For free, to any medical institution who'll take them, at a gala on the last night of the conference."

Angela let herself look up again, promising herself she wasn't intrigued. "What's the problem, then?"

"The Vishkar Corporation has patented medications for eight of those disorders."

Money and medicine, with countless lives in the balance. Oh. "You think they'll try something?"

"Oh, they'll try something. There are billions of dollars on the line, that hires a lot of assassins. But Vishkar's still looking to embed themselves in Oasis, whatever they try is bound to be subtle. So we need someone who won't seem out of place. Someone to watch over them."

Angela's eyes narrowed, she'd known the gorilla long enough to tell when he was hiding something. "Watch over who, exactly?"

He hesitated. "They're sending about a half dozen leading experts. And... their Minister of Genetics."

It was a good thing she'd left the tea on the table, or she would have spilled it. "You want me to spend my weekend protecting Moira?!"

"Dr. O'Deorain is visiting the United States on a diplomatic visa, personally escorting the dossier of medical secrets that Oasis plans to distribute at the end of the conference."

"You do remember we broke up, right? Badly."

"You're both professionals, Angela."

"I'm a professional. Moira's a monster."

Winston pushed the file folder across the table towards her. They'd be pictures inside, no doubt, some media shot of her smug face and those cold, mismatched eyes. More history, more messes, more conversations best ignored. "Just, read through the file?" Winston pleaded, "for old times' sake?"

She hesitated for a long time, then slowly brought one hand down to rest on the paper, handling it like a live bomb. "I'll read it, Winston. But I'm not making any promises."


	2. II. The Minister of Genetics

“Dr. Angela Ziegler, MD, PhD” read the neatly printed nametag, right under “The International Convention for Experimental Medical Advancements” and a stylized globe-and-Caduceus logo. She wondered if they got half as many complaints about the Rod of Asclepius as she did. The caduceus was carried by a winged god of messages and protection, and it had modern medical connotations, it was a perfectly logical name choice and only hopeless pedants cared about getting six-thousand-year-old mythology right anyways. Ugh.

She still hadn’t promised Winston anything, but she’d bought a plane ticket and conference admission. The attached hotel had a pool with a swim-up bar, and she’d stopped herself from thinking about Moira with visions of sipping pina coladas in the sun. Then her plane was delayed three hours due to pouring rain, and it was still dripping outside as she picked up her conference badge and room key.

And now what?

Winston’s file folder hadn’t been as helpful as old Overwatch’s briefings, which she supposed was fair coming from a gorilla working out of a decades-old abandoned building instead of a UN-funded science army. According to his research, Oasis had six delegates coming, Dr. Moira O'Deorain included, and a handful of plus ones brought along for the free US tour and not recorded by name on her limited intel briefing. Vishkar had given them even less to work with; a handful of partially-garbled hacked emails that hinted at Moira’s ability to veto the Oasis cure-sharing initiative, and some oblique references to The Correct Leverage that would cause her to use it. Brainwashing technology? Some sort of torture device? Anything that could make Moira do something against her will had to be pretty impressive. 

Moira, who she’d loved and cherished for half a decade. All those happy moments, the long talks into the early hours of the morning, the children they’d nearly had. Did Moira ever give up wanting children? She must have, by now, with what she’d become. Did she still do that little thing with her eyes when she laughed? Did she--

No. No thinking. There was bound to be room service, she’d get a pina colada sent up to her room. Or three. Wheeled luggage in hand, Angela started towards the elevator. The conference was just getting started, with individuals and groups arriving in lumps as planes landed and shuttle busses rolled in. She saw French doctors greeting each-other by the lobby restaurant, the Numbani contingent speaking with an Egyptian surgeon. 

And, how she hated how good she’d become at this sort of thing, she saw three men in nondescript suits casing the lobby, trying not to look like they were talking to each-other over hidden comms. Angela spoke barely any Hindi, but she’d looked up the term for “Correct Leverage” on the plane while going through translated emails, and recognized it even in hushed and ill-pronounced tones coming from Suit #1. 

Overwatch didn’t do subtle. Well, it had, but not well. And not for long. Fortunately, Angela was no longer part of Overwatch. With her loose blonde hair tossed over her name badge, she was just another doctor-turned-tourist, enjoying the relaxing hotel ambiance on the day before the conference got into full swing. She wheeled her travel luggage over to a wall, and made like she was waiting for someone.

The suits were, at her best guess, locals. Hired guns, but classy hired guns; no visible scars or tattoos. Ex-military men down on their luck, or well-to-do criminal types. Professional, but not incredible. Had Vishkar really skimped on their illegal brainwashing strike team fund?

“Target is incoming” Suit #1 whispered into his collar. “Lure, prepare for insertion.” Across the room, by the door, a pretty-looking woman in a summery dress looked up and alert, and picked up the childish-looking Murloc bag she had at her feet. What, did they think they were going to seduce the Minister of Genetics into doing what they wanted? They should have at least given their lure a lab coat. 

Half a moment later, the hotel doors opened, and the Oasis delegation arrived. 

Moira looked… god, tall. She towered half a foot over every other delegate, though the last few inches were the crown thing she was wearing. Had she dyed her hair? No, powdered it, soft pink to match the accents on the gown-like piece of Oasis fashion she was wearing. She wasn’t wearing any of her inventions, but she hadn’t bothered to hide the damage to her right hand, or the bionic enhancements that studded both. Still beautiful, of course. Like a statue. Or a particularly well-prepared corpse.

And she was stepping inside, and any minute now she’d look towards the back of the room, and see Angela, and things would get complicated. Except she didn’t look forward, she turned around. A second later, at Moira’s apparent insisting, the Oasis’ shortest delegate stepped in front.

She couldn’t have been more than ten years old, and she was wearing formal Oasis garbs from her feet up to her neck. On her head, she was wearing a Murloc hat, perched neatly over a mop of bright red hair. She looked out onto the world with cherubic storm-blue eyes, her face splattered in freckles, her expression that of a child who thought herself far too grown-up to exhibit glee but wanted desperately to find a viable, grown-up alternative to giggling in happiness.

The Lure was beginning her approach, Murloc bag in hand. Dr. Moira O'Deorain put her hand on the child’s shoulder, and that was when she looked towards the back of the room.

Though she couldn’t hear the word, she recognized the way Moira’s lips moved when she said it. 

“Angela?"

Pieces fell into place, like cinder blocks off a twelve-story building. Moira, tiny Moira look-alike child. Nine-year-old child, standing next to her ex-of-nine-years. They’d tried, they’d started the process four times, but they’d never gotten a zygote past the first trimester. It was scientifically implausible, but then this was Dr. Moira O'Deorain.  _ Oh god,  _ thought Angela,  _ she has my eyes. _

Utterly unbidden, Angela remembered the first thing her mother had said when she’d come out to her. “Well,  _ schätzli _ , at least you won’t have any kids you don’t mean to.”

The Lure was hesitating, reconsidering her angle. Not on Moira, no. This wasn’t about brainwashing, it was kidapping and blackmail. Approach the kid, gain her trust, and then… Angela took a deep breath, and stepped forward with what she hoped was a pleasant smile on her face. “Dr. O'Deorain. How strange to see you here. It’s been so long.”

There was a moment of utter confusion on Moira’s face, and for a second she almost looked human again. “Dr. Ziegler,” she said, recovering. “I didn’t realize you would be attending this conference.”

“Last-minute decision.” Angela looked from Moira to the kid, who looked up at her mother expectantly. 

“...Allow me to introduce my daughter, Einin O'Deorain.” 

Einin met Angela’s eyes with all of her mother’s confidence, and a disconcerting hint of her calculating mind. “Pleased to meet you, Dr. Ziegler.”

The Lure was turning around to sit back down again, and Suit #1 was whispering frantically into his collar. “Perhaps you would care to join me for the afternoon, Angela? I have no pressing obligations until this evening. I’m sure we have much to discuss.” Moira glanced back at her fellow delegates, then lowered her voice to a bare whisper. “And I believe I owe you an explanation.”


	3. III. An Explanation

Fourteen years ago, they’d started this in a hotel room. 

Angela couldn’t remember where in the world they’d traveled to, or even most of what they’d been doing, but there had been a children’s hospital. Moira was so desperately awkward around the kids, trying to keep her dignity as those brave enough to approach pawed at her lab coat and asked question after endless question. But she’d been capable of laughing back then, even at herself, and she’d earned a few smiles from their patients before the day was out. Angela had rarely thought of her girlfriend as ‘cute’, but there had been moments.

And that night, staying up til dawn for their red-eye flight, they’d started talking. 

“Do you want children, someday?” Angela asked, curled up next to her lover on the too-small hotel couch. 

Moira took so long to answer, Angela almost repeated the question. “Desperately,” she said at last, voice deep and strained. 

Angela sat back up a little, rearranging herself to meet the taller woman’s eyes. “Really? I wouldn’t have thought… well, we could do it I suppose. Biologically. I’ve never really loved the thought of getting pregnant, but if it means that much to you…”

“...actually, I’ve… I’ve always hoped to carry a child myself.”

Angela held her breath, taking in her lover’s words as if they were a great and precious secret. It was easy to forget that Moira hadn’t been born looking the way she was, that her struggle to rebuild the human body had started from something deeply personal. They’d been dating for over a year before Moira had even mentioned it; not a secret, exactly, but a vulnerability. A source of emotions she shared only as a rare sign of deep, intimate trust. 

“Do you think that’s possible? Medically, I mean.”

“I’m uncertain. There have been successful trials on cis women with transplanted uteruses. But the surgical solution is inelegant, and my case would be far more complex. I’ve toyed with a few alternative stratagems, but a practical test would require… commitment. And a donated ovum.”

Now it was Angela’s turn to think long and hard before replying. “You know, I think I’d like to try. In a few years, I mean, if we’re still together. And if you’re interested in my ovum.”

Moira smiled, one of those rare soft smiles she only managed after midnight, when the world was too dark to notice and she was already half asleep. “ _ Mo chuisle _ , I would like none better.”

Two years later they’d tried, and lost, and tried, and lost again. Until, at last, it had all become too much.

Back in the present day, Moira had sent her daughter to their hotel room alongside two armed bodyguards, then walked Angela to hers. They’d sat down across from each-other at the tiny hotel table, silent for a good few minutes before Moira had found the words to start. “I kept trying.”

“I can see that.” Angela replied.

“I never meant for you to discover her existence so suddenly.” Her tone was not apologetic, merely clinical. A scientist explaining the way of things. “I’d planned, at the time, to tell you past the second trimester. Once there was a chance. You left— we parted ways before the first month was passed. I was asked to leave Overwatch before I knew for certain the attempt was viable. And then, given my background, it seemed safest to keep Einin’s existence as a closely guarded secret.”

“Medically, it’s incredible.” Feelings hard, science easy. Talk science. “The procedure you used, it could help a lot of people.”

Moira scowled. “It was a crude first attempt, successful only through blind luck. It’s taken me nine years to refine it, to produce other living samples in Oasis. Not yours and mine, I assure you.” Panic in Angela’s chest quickly died, visions of a red-headed army of toddlers averted. “The new procedure is one of those I’m to present at the conference, in my capacity as a doctor rather than a Minister.”

Another long pause. “I’m happy for you,” Angela managed.

“Your tone suggests otherwise.”

_ Monster _ . “We’ve had that conversation before, Moira.”  _ When you started requisitioning human test subjects, when you started injecting yourself with god-knows-what. When you started caring more about your science experiment than our could-be children. Was it worth it? Are you happy now? _

“Why are you here, Angela?”

“The Vishkar Corporation wants to kidnap your daughter to stop you from releasing the Oasis cures. I’m here to stop them. Maybe. I hadn’t decided yet.”

Moira leaned back in her too-short hotel chair, almost ridiculous in her glorious Ministerial robes. “The Petras Act makes any and all Overwatch activity illegal.”

“The plain old regular laws make half the activities your new _ friends  _ get up to illegal. We heard about Akande’s escape. And Mondatta.”

“I have done nothing wrong that could be proven in a court of law.”

“I’m sure you haven’t.” But Winston and Lena had sent her pictures, blurry and ill-framed though they’d been. Moira’s answer to the Valkyrie swift-response suit was cruel and violent, as much for causing pain as curing it. A mockery of the oath they’d both taken to first, do no harm.

Not that Angela been perfect about keeping her vows, when you got down to it. 

“A threat from Vishkar doesn’t surprise me, but I was not aware that they’d discovered the existence of Einin. I would have insisted she stay home, or brought along more security.” She still sounded clinical, as if this was an unexpected setback in an experiment. “Your assistance would be… appreciated.”

“My problems with what you’ve become haven’t changed, you know.” Angela gave a deep sigh, because there was only one answer here. “But a child doesn’t deserve to get wrapped up in this. I’ll protect her, if I can.”

Another long, painful pause. “Thank you, Angela. I don’t believe I can send her home before Sunday, not with the promises I’ve made, but I can limit her public appearances. She is, however, expected at the opening gala tonight.”

“Isn’t that just for conference speakers, and VIPs?”

“Einin is a conference speaker. She’s presenting her designs for a new biotic battery to improve the functionality of prosthetic limbs.” If Moira could still express any emotion, it was pride, and it flooded her voice.

Oh. “She’s, ah, she’s nine, right?”

“The Oasis educational system is without peer. And my daughter’s intellectual genetics are impeccable.”

Angela remembered her first professional conference, when she was fifteen. They grew up so fast these days. “Well, I’m not a speaker, or a VIP. I suppose I can wait outside, in case anything happens.”

Moira looked away. “There is a more effective option. I had not planned to bring a companion to the event, but a last-minute addition would not be frowned upon.”

Oh, no. No. Definitely no. “I could be your date, you mean.”

“Platonically, of course.” Moira raised her slender hands in a gesture of mock surrender.

_ Think about the kid _ . Freckle-faced, wide-eyed, stupid smart and, she hoped, innocent in all of this. What else could she do?

“Very well, Dr. O'Deorain. Pick me up at eight?”


	4. IV: The Gala

Back in the old days, there’d been a party or a gala or a ball nearly once a month. This hospital fundraiser, that new Overwatch initiative, they’d blurred together in Angela’s memory as one long string of forced conversations and bad hors d'oeuvres. Well, most of them. For a few years, Moira had been there too, with her perfect suits and perfect hair. Always ready to offer some scathingly funny whispered commentary, or find a dull moment to whisk her away to an enticing janitor’s closet. Those nights had been rather more memorable.

Nine years later, she still looked perfect. By eight o’clock, she’d washed that strange pink dye out of her hair and changed into a tailored suit that was about two steps too formal for the occasion. As always, that only made Angela feel underdressed. At least she’d thought to pack a nice dress, with deep pockets. 

“I’m pleased to see you again, Dr. Ziegler.” Einin stood beside her mother in a more sensible suit, blue and cream in a modern Oasis style. “Please allow me to introduce my bodyguards, Mr. Alavi and Miss Conti. My mother informs me that you will be working with them?”

The two bodyguards, standing directly behind their charge, had been meticulously styled to look as identical as possible, despite being nothing alike. Mr. Alavi was an omnic, a semi-customized humanoid model with facial sensors set in a permanently dour expression. Miss Conti was a human woman, round-faced and short, who looked more suited to babysitting than bodyguarding. They wore identical suits, and Miss Conti had her hair slicked back in a bun that gave the impression of matching her counterpart’s hairless head.

“Pleased to meet you both. And thank you, Miss O'Deorain.” Though she tried to match the child’s formal tone, it came out feeling forced and strange. “You can call me Angela, if you’d like.”

The kid hesitated. “Yes, I suppose that would work. And you may call me Einin.”

The opening gala was held in the hotel’s largest conference hall, decked out in the sort of budget-luxury decorations that always made these things feel like cheap weddings. Moira didn’t offer her an arm as they stepped in together, or even glance in her direction.  _ That’s a good thing. _ Angela pried her eyes off her ex to sweep the room, picking up more tactical information in moments than most soldiers would see in an hour of careful study. Three other attendees had their own bodyguards, all clustered around the VIP table near the back, and she pegged another six doctors as having their own combat training. None of the suits from the lobby had showed up, nor their cheery-faced lure.

“There are some professional acquaintances I should greet. Would you like me to introduce you, Einin?” Moira looked down at her daughter, who shook her head.

“Thank you, mother, but I should prefer not to rely on my genetic history at the very start of my career.” Moira smiled at that response, smugly pleased. “May I take Angela and introduce myself to the head of the selections committee?”

“Of course,  _ a leanbh _ .” Angela was surprised to see the tall scientist bend down to kiss her daughter’s forehead, her expression nearly tender. “Please do be careful.”

“Yes, mother.”

Moira left, and Einin spent a moment planning her attack. She took off at a steady pace for the other side of the room, with Angela and the bodyguards following steps behind.

“Would you let me have a pet?” Einin spoke up suddenly, and it took Angela a moment to realize the question was directed at her.

“That’s… well, that’s a question for your mother, isn’t it?”

“Yes, well, I’ve spent the afternoon considering the evidence.” The kid didn’t slow down while she talked, or look back to make eye contact. “My mother’s oblique conversations, both recent and historical. Your behaviour with her and with me, and of course our obvious genetic similarities. It’s quite clear that you are my second genetic patent,  _ ergo _ I am interviewing you to determine my interest in your future involvement in the child-rearing process.”

“How... proactive of you.” 

“So, should I agree to such involvement, would you let me have a pet? Mother says it’s unbecoming of a scientist to become too attached to animals, lest they become necessary in the research process. But I want to be a roboticist anyway.”

She’d been prepared for kidnapping attempts, no one had told her there would be a parenting quiz. “Not a geneticist?” Angela asked, buying time.

“No, that’s mother’s thing. Of course I’m grateful for the advances that allowed for my creation, but the field itself is so…” The kid wrinkled her nose, struggled to find a more verbose synonym for ‘uncool’, and settled on “...dated.”

Angela felt her level of attachment to this precocious, unexpected child rise by about three hundred percent. “About the pet, I’ll have to think about it. Can I get back to you?”

Einin nodded sagely. 

The head of the selections committee was a grey-haired man who treated Einen as a cute child out past her bedtime. Angela listened wordlessly as she struggled to redirect his questions about who’d helped her with her science project, to push the conversation back towards the frontiers of biomechanical medicine. She was more patient than her mother, more willing to smile and be sweet, but the underlying frustration was unmistakable.

“Will you introduce me to your friends then, young lady?” The older doctor leaned down just a little, smiling paternally. “I don’t want to make them feel left out.”

“My bodyguards prefer not to engage in conversation while on duty.” Einin paused to consider, then added, “this is Dr. Angela Ziegler. A colleague of my mother’s.”

“ _ The _ Dr. Ziegler? Mercy?” He abandoned Einin instantaneously, offering Angela a hand to shake. “Goodness, I’m quite the fan. Well, this explains so much of miss O'Deorain’s paper. I confess, I was quite shocked when I found out there was a nine-year-old behind the pseudonym she used to submit it. I’m Dr. Sommer. Niklas. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

“Oh, you flatter me.” Angela accepted the handshake, and gave him her best bedside smile. “But on the contrary, I hadn’t the pleasure of meeting miss O'Deorain until just this morning.” She lowered her voice. “You seemed to be having some trouble following Einin’s line of thinking, just now. If you’d like, I have some articles I could forward you for background reading.”

“That’s, ah, well no I don’t think that’s necessary.”

“It’s nothing to be ashamed of, Dr. Sommer. Miss O'Deorain is an excellent engineer and research scientist, but explaining complex advances to a novice in the field is a whole other skill. Even I have some trouble keeping up, and my expertise in medical biotechnology is only a few years out of date.”

Einin picked up on her approach right away. “My apologies, Dr. Sommer. I’m quite excited to be here, I suppose I got carried away with the more technical aspects of my work. I’d be happy to slow down for you.”

“Yes, well, that’s quite alright.” Clearly flustered, Dr. Sommer admitted defeat. “I think I should excuse myself, so many people to meet and all that.”

As he made his retreat, Angela looked over to Einin, and was treated to a beaming, mischievous smile.

“Think we should find something to eat?” Angela ventured. 

“That sounds lovely.”

“Perimeter remains secure, Dr. Zeigler,” said Miss Conti, stepping up briefly to speak with Angela. It was probably meant to be comforting, but it just made her start scanning the room again herself.

“You know, this whole kidnapping business seems terribly antiquated.” Einin seemed completely unconcerned by the threat, making her way to the dessert table. “If I were in their shoes, I’d start with explosives, then retreat with my body and resurrect the corpse at my leisure. Much more reliable.”

_ Bleak, kid. _ But she did make a point, the gala floor was only one possible source of trouble. Angela turned her eyes upwards, because no one ever bothered to look up. The room had one of those fake edged balconies, designed to make it look like a ballroom without all the work of a second story. Just enough space for someone to stand and aim, but there was no one there.

Except, there was. Not a person, but a glitch. She had to squint to see it, but it was definitely there. A humanoid outline, with sniper rifle. Scanning the room, until the hints of a pair of goggles landed back on Einin. And then, on her.

In less than a second, Angela watched the sniper rifle turn towards them both, the trigger hand fall into place. She reached for a staff that wasn’t there, and yelled as loudly as she could, “take cover!”


	5. V. Run for Cover

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who's left kudos, and double that to everyone who's left a comment. One of the great joys of fanfiction is getting to see people reacting to your work, and seriously every comment gives me strength. 
> 
> I almost held off on posting this chapter until Blizzard released the new map, but I'm not that patient. Enjoy!

She heard three shots, in quick succession, as she tackled Einin to the ground. From her angle on the floor, she saw Moira standing half way across the room, and then nothing but tendrils of purple smoke. Something heavy landed on Angela’s back, smelling like burnt oil. 

The heavy something was Mr. Alavi, who’d had the same protective instincts she’d had. His dour face stared skyward, lit eyes flickering on and off. Angela pushed him aside, slipped a dermal patch from her pocket and slapped it against his metal casing. Slower than the caduceus, but maybe still fast enough to save the man’s artificial life. Hours before he’d be online again. 

His suit jacket was open and splayed back against the ground, she could reach his hidden holster from here. She took the gun.

“Stay behind me, Einin.” The kid stayed down, Mercy half-rose to assess the battlefield. Scared doctors fleeing in every direction, other bodyguards securing their charges’ escapes, the sound of two more gunshots. They came from the pseudo-balcony, where the gunman was firing aimlessly at the ceiling, vision choked off by a clawed hand on his face and another at his throat. Her first thought was _ threat eliminated _ , not  _ that man needs a medic _ , and she hated it. 

Miss Conti, the remaining bodyguard, had backed off a few steps, gun drawn, assessing the panicked crowd. “They have some sort of camouflage device,” said Mercy, “look for a ripple.”

And there was one, not even ten feet away, closing fast. Mercy aimed for the chest, landed three shots before the attacker could react. He crumpled, camouflage matrix spasming and dying to reveal a man in dated black assault gear. Army surplus, not much protection against the modern energy pistols the bodyguards carried. 

Was there a third? Mercy thought she saw something by the door, a glitch-outline running for the exit. She lined up the shot, but the glitch was pushing through crowds of civilians who’d had the same thought about escape.  _ You could shoot first, resurrect later. You’ve done it before _ . She hesitated, and the glitch was gone.

To her left, a thud and crash marked Moira and the man from the balcony falling onto the dessert table. The scientist held her right hand over the man’s head, and Angela stared as violet smoke rose from his ears, seeped out from the mask covering his eyes and nose. She’d read the Blackwatch reports, understood the science, but seeing it work in person was different. Struggling to lift her off him, the man looked utterly terrified before he collapsed. Moira looked… pleased.

“Is the room secured?” Moira asked, letting her prey drop to the ground.

“No further targets located” said Miss Conti immediately. Moira looked to Angela next, who nodded her agreement.

“One fled through the front door. I’m not seeing any others.”

“Einin?” 

For the first time since the fight began, Angela looked back at the child she’d been protecting, following her mother’s gaze. She was crouching on one knee, with blood seeping out from behind the hand she held to her forehead. “I’m alright.”

Moira was there in an instant, Angela half a step behind. “ _ Leanbh, Einin, lig dom a fheiceail.” _ Her voice was about as soothing as Moira’s voice could get; not sweet, but rhythmic with the cadence of her native tongue, hypnotizing. Einin lifted her hand, letting her mother’s brush across her forehead. Angela watched it glow a faint gold-yellow, and she knew the science behind that trick too. Without her equipment, and unless she’d made some new advancements recently, Moira’s healing touch would be coming from her own reserves. 

“Let me,” said Angela, pulling out another dermal patch.

“It barely hurts at all,” insisted Einin, but her mother took the patch and activated it. The wound was already scabbing over as Moira wiped away excess blood with the sleeve of her formal shirt. Einin protested with a scowl, but stayed seated and allowed herself to be fretted over.

“I think they were aiming for me, and the bodyguards,” said Angela, examining the wound as Moira cleaned it. It wasn’t from a gunshot, but something she’d hit when she fell; just a deep scrape. “Take out the defenses with the man on the balcony, then two more to snatch her up while the crowd scatters. The first man panicked when he saw that I saw him.”

With one more spot check over her daughter, Moira stood back up to her impressive full height. The room was empty now, save the four of them and the three bodies, unconscious or dead. Moira walked over to the nearest of their opponents, the man that Mercy had shot, and pulled away his protective mask. 

“Still alive,” she said, as if she were remarking on something vile she’d found on her shoe. She tapped open her wrist unit’s holographic screen, gold and fashionable in the Oasis hyper-advanced style, and pressed something on it that Angela couldn’t see. 

“This must have sent Vishkar a message,” Angela said, watching cautiously. “That they’d best stop, before this gets out of hand for them.”

“I doubt it. There will be more where these came from, until the source is taken care of.” Moira pocketed her device again. “I have enough information to identify the group that’s been hired, I can locate them before tomorrow’s out.”

“And then what?”

“I’ll do what I have to.” No hesitation in her voice, no hint of remorse. 

Angela got to her feet, took a few cautious steps towards her ex. “Take on an entire mercenary gang? Kill them?”

“Do they deserve any less?”

“No one deserves to die. No one.”

“And yet, sometimes they must.” Moira looked back at her, mismatched eyes fixed and certain. “Or do you wish to contest that too, Mercy?”

Behind them both, Einin coughed pointedly.  She was back on her feet now, the gash on her forehead well on its way to healed, and the rest of her looking none the worse for wear. “I don’t wish to interrupt you, mother,” she said, in a tone that suggested she very much did, “but you have prior obligations for tomorrow.”

Moira stopped, pulled her clawed fingers through her hair. “Einin, the circumstances have changed--”

“--Our bargain was made under the understanding that my presence here might put me at risk against your wishes.” The kid interrupted with the confidence of someone who had rehearsed this argument a hundred times in her head. “Renegotiating because that chance had come to pass would be unfair.”

“It’s my own work at stake too, and the future of Oasis.” The doctor sighed. “I’m prepared to exercise my veto. Make me a counter-proposal.”

Einin scrunched her face, considering the matter. “Angela can take me,” she said at last. “But you’ll have to negotiate with her for her terms.”

“Take you… where exactly?” Angela was at one part glad for the new leverage, but uneasy about stepping into this… family squabble? Disagreement, anyway, though it seemed a fairly civil one for Moira.

“Einin was promised, if her speaker’s proposal was accepted at the conference,” Moira hesitated over her words, a rarity, “she could attend that new park they’ve opened.”

The nine-year-old smiled in triumph, staring her mother down with their shared, absolute certainty. “Blizzard World.”


	6. VI. Infiltration

Moira ended her evening with a video call she didn’t particularly want to make. 

“¡ _ Hola _ ,  _ amiga!”   _ The chipper woman who answered was leaning back in a plush chair, feet propped up on a desk, surrounded by holographic screens. “Little late for a social call, my friend. Los Angelessss, nice place. You been to that new theme park yet?”

“I’m calling in a favour, Sombra.” Moira made a few gestures at her own screen, ignored the hacker’s unavoidable banter. “I’m sending you some photographs and a genetic sample, I need you to figure out who this man works for and where the rest of them reside.”

“That it? I thought you’d want something hard.” Her gloved hands were already working, bringing screens to violet life. “Your fella’s involved in some pretty nasty stuff there. Weapon smuggling, assassinations, little blackmail. He giving you some kind of trouble?”

“He’s after something I value.”

“More than just him after it. You’re right, he works for a group. Call themselves The Enforcement, nobodies in the global world but big dogs up there in the states. Cheap rates, though. Quantity over quality. Heey, you brought your little  _ chiquita _ along! How’d she like Blizzard World, you go on all the rides?”

_ I don’t know, we haven’t been. We won’t get the chance, not this time.  _ Another hallmark of motherhood, she supposed, lost to her calling. “The Enforcement, where do I find whoever’s in charge?”

“On paper? Nowhere. Total anarchy, but that’s always a front. I can make some best guesses, but I’m going to have to run the whole group’s movements. That takes time, even for me. They after your kid, then? That’s real low. Hey, they’ve got a real security system on somma these files. Must be something juicy.”

“How much time, Sombra?”

“To find their secret lair? I’ll send it to you by morning. And I’ll work on sorting through the rest of these files for you, see if anything interesting shows.”

“Thank you.” Moira was quite sure the hacker would be more interested in information she could use for her own private war, but it paid to stay civil with Sombra. 

“Your turn to do me a favour next, right  _ amiga _ ?” She mixed cheery and intimidating into one sentence, all with her usual nonchalance. “Pick me up a souvenir, one of those hats. A purple one.” And, before Moira could object, she gave a curt little wave. “Sombra, out.”

Moira had picked out a hotel suite for herself and her daughter, twin beds and a small office with a joined room for the bodyguards. She’d set up her own defenses to improve upon the built-in lock and shatterproof glass windows, neat rows of lasers that could alert her of an intruder and shred them to pieces in the process if they weren’t well protected. If only the setup were more portable, something she could just attach to her child. Einin wanted to travel, to make her mark on the world, and Moira wouldn’t dream of stopping her, but they needed to get serious about her defense lessons. And maybe some sort of armor plating, for the next trip.

“Are you done with your work?” Einin had brushed her teeth and changed, and now sat on the hotel bed furthest from the door. 

“Yes, I am.” Moira paused, still uncertain in these quiet moments alone together. Maybe she should have brought the nanny. “Would you like me to tuck you in?”

“I’m a little old for that, mother,” said Einin with a roll of her eyes, then a little more quietly, “but, if you’d like to, I guess I wouldn’t mind.”

Moira pulled the blankets over her daughter with military neatness, sat down on the edge of the bed, brushed the hair from Einin’s eyes with an absent flare of yellow-gold biotic energy. Her little miracle, her perfect creation, the only thing in the world that made her want to be cautious and careful and safe. She was going to see to the Enforcement first, but once she got home? Vishkar was going to pay, more dearly than they had ever imagined.

“Do you think I’m in much danger, from the people out to kidnap me?” Einin asked.

“Not for much longer,  _ a leanbh _ . I will take care of them.” Moira got to her feet again, sparing one lingering moment by the light switch to watch her daughter close her eyes. 

“I like Angela quite a bit,” Einin said sleepily, nestling deeper into her blankets. “She was a good choice for my genetic composition. And I’m glad I got to meet her.”

Moira flicked the switch, plunging the room into darkness. “So am I.”

***

It was halfway to evening again by the time she was ready to begin, decked out in equipment forbidden by a foreign country’s archaic laws, perched on the building beside the old factory that the Enforcement had turned into their illicit corporate headquarters. The plan was simple: tear into the office, find the person in charge, hang them out a window until they agreed to her demands, and leave them terrified enough to follow through. If something went wrong? Improvise. Angela had extracted from her a promise that she wouldn’t kill here without dire need, but had left ‘dire’ up to her interpretation, and Moira was inclined to define the word rather broadly.

Angela. Two things in the world could inspire Moira’s heart to poetics: the vast and infinite complexity of the universe unveiled before her through the lens of scientific inquiry and human advancement, and Dr. Angela Ziegler. And perhaps their genetic recombination, made possible by the former. Seeing her again came with a flood of old memories, not all of them pleasant.

“What have you done to yourself?” Angela had asked her, nine years ago.

“Nothing that I did not mean to.” Moira collapsed just inside their shared apartment, right hand still spasming from the genetic alterations. Angela knelt to keep her steady, put a hand to her head to check for fever.

“You’re going to get yourself killed.”

“Only if I make a mistake.” The pain was not so terrible, compared to previous attempts. Moira used her good hand to help herself up, which was when she noticed the suitcase. “You’ve packed a bag.”

Angela was crying now. Not for the first time, these last few months. “I want to protect you, my love. I really do. But I cannot save you from yourself.”

_ I don’t need to be saved, Angela. I just need to be right. _

On a rooftop, nine years later, Moira considered her previous methodology, the flaws in her younger self’s approach. Her scientific genius had been without peer, but the rest of her behaviour? Surely, there had been room for improvement. But with the way Angela looked at her now, and the people they’d become, it was evident that some experiments simply could not be repeated.

She’d planned her entrance around the security, which Sombra had so kindly detailed in her report. Top window, third from the right; a sort of formal office where the more serious turret equipment would have been unsightly. Moira made the leap, six stories above the desolate street below, and caught herself on the window sill. The pane of reinforced glass shattered at her right hand’s grasp, the defense sensors tore themselves to shreds. 

There’d be a silent alarm now, alerting every guard with a quiet buzz against their wrists. The building’s most secure room was three doors over, anyone important would be rushing there first, along with personal security. Easy to corner them, kill their bodyguards, then make a few demands. She tore through the room’s heavy oak door, bursting into the hallway prepared for all comers.

And there was no one there. Not a person, not a whisper. 

“Sombra? Sombra.” Moira enunciated the name into her wrist unit, which dialed the hacker. 

“ _ Hola _ ,” came the answer from the other end, voice-only. “Little busy right now doc.”

“Where have you sent me? There’s no one here.”

“No, that’s not right… did you follow my map? Your GPS says you’re in the right place.”

Something was wrong. What had they missed?

“Hang on, I’ve almost got this last firewall…. There! Damn. You recognize this girl?”

A picture of a face showed up on Moira’s wrist unit, a brunette woman in her mid twenties. “I don’t believe so.”

“That’s Bianca Montalti, she’s a Vishkar corporate spy. Had herself a reputation, few years back. Real clever, but no one’s seen her for a good nine months. Now, we make some changes to her face, alter the hair, the eyes… You recognize her now?”

Moira did. Instantly.

“I have to go, Sombra. She’s with Einin right now.” Sombra made some flippant objection, but Moira’s mind was already elsewhere. Einin.

And Angela.


	7. VII. Blizzard World

By the time lunch had rolled around, Einin was sated and sticky and loaded down with souvenirs, but with a fierce glint in her eyes that suggested her second wind was imminent. Mr. Alavi, still glitchy from last night’s encounter with an energy rifle, had been spared the Blizzard World experience, leaving Angela with a borrowed holster and gun that sat uneasily under a light jacket. Having been put in charge of the expedition, she’d found the three of them some food and a shaded bench to eat it on; Einin and her sitting down, Miss Conti watching from behind for potential threats.

“And that’s why I think Zergling micro is really going to define the meta at the professional level, next season.” Einin spoke between bites of hot dog, finishing a conversation out of which Angela had parsed about one word for every three. “Did you ever get to work with D.Va, when you were in the field as Mercy?”

“What? Oh, no, she started a bit after my time.” Nothing like a nine-year-old to make you feel old, apparently.

“Her reflexes are the pinnacle of human excellence, you know. Even better than an AI in some circumstances. Though the mech units she pilots are long overdue for a rigorous program of upgrades.” She looked down at her food, suddenly a little shy. “I watch all her livestreams.”

Oh, dear. “Well, if you continue in the field of robotics, maybe you’ll meet her yourself someday.”

Einin turned pink. “Meet her? In person?” She poked at her food, considering the matter. “Maybe once I’m a little older. At least ten.”

_ Good luck, kid. No amount of scientific rigor is going to prepare you for that one.  _ “You know, Einin, I’ve been thinking about the question you had. About getting a pet.”

“Oh?” The child perked up again, grateful for the change of topic. “What have you concluded?”

“I think Moir-- your mother’s reasoning against one is somewhat flawed. Certainly, attachment can get in the way of advancing science as quickly as possible, but it’s also what keeps it focused. Progress for progress’s sake might keep things moving, but we can end up running around in circles, or worse, into another Omnic Crisis. As scientists, we must chart a course for the future we wish to create, and compassion for other living beings provides our most valuable compass.” 

Einin was quiet for awhile, finishing the last of her hotdog. “That’s a very well-reasoned argument. In your experience, do you think it can be used to convince my mother?”

“Well, Moira had a pet once.”

“...really?”

“She wouldn’t call it that, at first. We kept animals in the lab for medical testing; it was hard, sometimes, but it did keep human subjects out of harm’s way. One month, we got a fresh shipment from the breeder, and one of the rabbits had deformed back legs. A genetic mutation. He was too dissimilar to be used in tests alongside all the others, but Moira kept him. She called him a second control sample at first, and then an interesting specimen, and then one day she’d brought him home to our apartment with a fancy new rabbit hutch and a bag full of rodent enrichment toys. After that, we just called him Specimen.” 

Einin took a moment to process this. “I’ve been asking for a cat, or a lizard. Perhaps I will reopen negotiations by asking for a rabbit.”

Angela snorted. “I hope you’ll tell me how that goes.” Assuming they stayed in touch, just what was their relationship going to look like once all this was over? 

“Can I have a Murloc ice cream? For dessert?”

“You had cotton candy for breakfast, so no. Besides, they’re covered in that cardboard they call chocolate in this country. Disgusting.” A brief thought, a petty revenge. “But remind me just before I send you back to your mother, and I’ll buy you any three sweets you want.”

Ten minutes later the child was ready for round two, content to zip through the crowds towards her next chosen ride. Angela shot the bodyguard an apologetic look for whatever part her own genetics had played in Einin’s speed, and hustled to keep up. Their target was a glittering golden pyramid back closer to the entrance of the park, labeled ‘The Nexus Experience’ on the map. It was apparently something about Warcraft, or Starcraft, or possibly some third -craft that Angela had missed. Einin was lecturing at about a mile a minute and it was all the doctor could do to keep nodding encouragement.

The three of them tapped their pass-bands at the front of the pyramid, and began at the back of the ninety minute wait line. The next hour and a half were likely to be boring, but boring was safe. Angela hoped the trip remained as dull as possible, just about as life conspired to keep her from her wish. 

It started with a screaming child, not exactly newsworthy in Blizzard World. But this one wasn’t starting a tantrum, or yelling in excitement. Angela recognized the wail of genuine distress, just about fifteen feet further up in line. The muttering began around them, increasingly frantic closer to the incident, until an adult within sight of it yelled out “is anyone here a doctor?”

Angela looked down at Einin, wide-eyed but not inclined to panic. “Stay here with Miss Conti,” she told the girl. “Conti, keep both eyes open. Just in case.” The bodyguard nodded and pulled Einin closer, opening her jacket to keep one hand on her gun.

“I’m a doctor,” said Angela, parting the crowds with those three magic words. The problem was immediately apparent: a screaming boy, standing next to a man who’d just collapsed. She dropped to his side and started taking vitals: agonal respiration, no pulse. “Someone tell me what happened,” she commanded, already getting into position for CPR. 

“He looked fine,” said one of the spectators. Not grasping for the boy, so likely no relation. “Not sick, I mean. He just collapsed.” Murmured agreements confirmed the story, as far as the audience knew it.

Twenty eight, twenty nine, thirty pumps to the chest. Pinch nose, chin back, breath, breath, dermal patch to help repair the problem while CPR staved off brain damage. Between cycles she pulled up the man’s shirt and snapped one in place, directly above the heart to give the nanites as quick a trip as possible.

The man’s chest was a maze of veins, black and bulging.  _ What?  _ That wasn’t part of any cardiac arrest she’d seen before. She started another CPR cycle as her nanites got to work, but panic rose in her throat. Something was wrong.

Her wrist unit rang, beeping yellow for urgency. It answered itself in two rings, according to the preferences she’d set, and Moira’s frantic voice crackled over the small speakers. “Angela! Where’s Miss Conti?”

“She’s with Einin.” Twenty five, twenty six, twenty seven more pumps. Looking up, Angela saw the Blizzard World medical team pushing their way through the crowd, thank goodness. “They’re safe.”

“No, no! Conti works for Vishkar, Angela where are they?!”

Angela stopped everything, and a Blizzard medic pushed her aside to continue the work. Taking out Mr. Alavi, then distracting her by poisoning someone else. Pieces clicked into place, and her horror grew as she looked back to where she’d left Einin and her so-called bodyguard.

They were already gone.


	8. VIII: Hurricane

Angela paid out the nose for a fast-drop shuttle cab back to the hotel, just as soon as it became clear that Einin was well and thoroughly gone. Moira had been heading back too, and it had seemed the best place to regroup. 

By the time Angela got there, Moira’s hotel room looked like a hurricane had hit it. A hurricane with claws. The curtains were shredded, the far bed thrown against the wall despite having been bolted to the floor when it started. The walls were pocked with craters, like someone had been throwing a bowling ball around. Half of her battle suit was strewn across the floor, the rest she was still wearing, curled up on the room’s remaining bed. 

She looked up the moment Angela walked in, and it was frightening. In all their years together, Angela had never seen her look anything like this; dark makeup run down her cheeks in streaks, eyes red and swollen, hair and clothes a wreck. 

“Did you find her?” Moira’s voice was desperate. Angela shook her head, and watched the older scientist break again.

“You said you’d protect her! You left her, you left her with that woman!” 

“Who you hired!” 

Moira was on her feet now, and it should have been menacing, but Angela didn’t move. When she reached her, she all but collapsed, too defeated to even cry again.

Angela held her, and Moira held her back. For a long moment, that had to be enough. 

“I’m not a very good mother, Angela.” Moira’s voice was steady again, but still struggled for its usual clinical detachment. “Making her took everything I had, but the rest of it? I’ve never known what to do, what to say to her.”

Angela pulled her head from Moira’s shoulder, stared up into her mismatched eyes. “You love her, and that’s enough.”

“I wish that were true, Angela.”

And Moira kissed her, soft and sweet and sudden. She tasted just as wonderful as always; dangerous and broken, brilliant and shockingly tender beneath it all. It was nothing like the thousand kisses they’d shared before, tainted as it was with grief and history, but oh it was good. This was the woman she’d fallen in love with, and in her arms she could fall in love all over again.

Moira stopped just as quickly as she’d started, letting go of the embrace and taking a step away. “No, I shouldn’t have-- forgive me, Angela. I’m not myself at the moment.”

Angela closed the gap, put a hand back on Moira’s arm. “No, it’s… it’s alright.”

Moira put her own hand on top of Angela’s, held it for a moment. “I don’t know what to do,  _ mo chuisle _ . It’s not only the Oasis cures, Vishkar has wanted a Minister in their pocket since the city’s foundation. There’s no assurance that giving into their demands will result in Einin’s safe return. The objective best course of action is to do nothing, to consider her a loss, but I…” She shuddered again, “I can’t. I could never.”

“Of course not. There’s another solution, there has to be.”

And maybe they would have kissed again, but Angela’s wrist unit rang. Desperate for news, she answered it, and got the hotel receptionist on the other end.

“Dr. Ziegler? There’s a young woman and a… gentleman here to see you. I’m going to need your permission to give them your room number.”

“Angela, love?” In the back of the video, a chipper brunette was trying to edge into the shot, leaning wide over the receptionist’s desk. “Winston heard about the gunfire last night, he filled me in and we got worried. Thought you might need a helping hand!”

Despite it all, Angela couldn’t help but smile, though she kept her own video feed off. “Lena! And Winston’s there too? I’ll be right down, I think you’re just in time.”

As she hung up, Moira sighed. “I see respect for the Petras Act is at an all-time high.” She wasn’t back to normal, far from it, but at least she was making jokes again. “Do you really think they’d help me?”

“They’re the cavalry, it’s what they do” Angela squeezed her ex’s hand, hoping she could pass on some of her own renewed hope. “We’re going to get your daughter back.”


	9. IX: Capture the Flag

“I still can’t believe you’ve got a daughter, Angela! I bet she’s just the cutest little sprog. You know Emily and I were thinking of trying, in a few years. Do you think yours would be up for babysitting?”

“Well, she lives in Oasis…”

“Right, bit of a commute that. Rot, I hope she doesn’t take much after her other mother. Woman’s completely creepers.”

“This is a group channel, Miss Oxton,” Moira’s deep voice cut in, “I can hear you.”

“We can all hear you, _estúpida_. And some of us are trying to work here.” Though Angela hadn’t much liked the thought of owing Talon a favour, Moira had brought in a colleague of her own, who’d claimed she was already in the area.

“Right, sorry!” Tracer’s optimism was undeterred, “not used to working in a team like this anymore.”

“Just don’t go ‘forgetting’ my price, okay?” The hacker, who’d only given her name as ‘Sombra’, seemed to mix a threat into every other sentence she spoke, for fear of falling out of practice. “Ten minutes alone with your ‘Miss Conti’, before you hand her over to the authorities. Or kill her, I don’t really care.”

Angela adjusted her position, stretching out stiffness in her arms and shoulders from the wait. Traveling with the Valkyrie Suit was such a hassle that she’d left it at home, expecting to act as a doctor and a second pair of eyes rather than a combatant, but Winston had thought of everything. The prototype she’d made with Overwatch lacked her most recent upgrades, and fit more tightly around the stomach now than she was comfortable admitting, but she was glad to have it on. The old staff was heavier than her new one, but nearly as effective, and her borrowed gun fit nicely in the suit’s holster.

“Get ready,” said Sombra a moment later, “I’ve almost got this. Their comms will only be down a few minutes, so don’t lag around.”

“Not going to be a problem,” Tracer still sounded chipper, but more focused, prepared for the seriousness of the task at hand.

“Don’t rush in, either, we need to act together.” From her vantage point high above, and with her planned entrance at the back of the team, Mercy was well situated to call the shots. “Keep track of Winston and Moira, they’re your main lifeline, fall back to me if they’re preoccupied. Sombra, same thing: stay together, or you’re on your own.”

“I’ve run with the doctor before, _chiquita._ I know the drill.”

“Winston, your priority is anything big: mechs, armoured combatants. Moira, handle turrets and any other emplacements that Tracer can’t reach safely, I know your tricks can bounce. And keep me alive,” she smiled to herself, “I’ll do the same for you.”

“ _Qué romántico_ ,” said Sombra, with mocking drawl. “Okay; I’m in, everyone. This mission starts now.”

***

Einin O'Deorain came slowly back to consciousness with a pounding headache and, she quickly discovered, no arm or leg mobility. It didn’t take a genius (which she was) to figure out what had happened. Bits of memory floated back: Blizzard World, Angela leaving to save someone, Miss Conti drawing her close, then a stabbing pain on the back of her neck and a hand over her mouth to muffle the scream. Drugged, probably, and no one would bat an eye at a maternal-looking woman carrying a sleeping nine-year-old out of a theme park. Clever.

She felt the panic response starting; elevated heart rate, rapid breathing, sudden and intense fear. _Remember your anti-abduction training_ , she told herself firmly. _Step one: observation._

They hadn’t blindfolded her. When she opened her eyes, it was to a small room with a single light hanging from the ceiling, and no windows. Two men by the door, armed with non-lethal shock rifles, and Miss Conti, still in the outfit she’d worn to Blizzard World. That meant she hadn’t been out for long, probably just a few hours. More than four, and they would have risked serious medical complications from a potential overdose, and the shock rifles suggested a vested interest in keeping her alive. She was sitting on a rigid chair, probably metal, and her hands and legs were tied to it.

_Step two: determine your attacker’s motivation._ Well that was easy, convince mother to veto the Oasis cure sharing initiative. The deadline for that was tomorrow evening, so they must have contacted her already, probably sent proof of life and their demands. That meant mother knew, and she’d already started planning a rescue.

_Step three: humanize yourself to your attacker, make them sympathize with you_. Einin had always doubted the efficacy of that technique, but she put on her best injured-child face and resolved to try. “M-miss Conti? It was you? But… but why? I thought we were a” sniffle for dramatic effect “family.”

“Nice try, kid.” Einin had only heard her bodyguard speak a few times before, but she had always sounded vaguely warm. Not anymore. “But it’s good that you’re awake, it means you can start thinking about your choice. Vishkar is going to be keeping you around for quite some time. If you cooperate, we can make you quite comfortable. You’ll have a room of your own, toys and books, even teachers if you’d like. If you make things difficult for us? Well, then we’ll make them difficult for you. You’re a clever girl, I trust you’ll make the right decision.”

She’d run out of steps, and there was that panic response again. “No, you’d better start thinking about _your_ choice. You can contact Dr. Ziegler and hand me back, or you can wait for my mother to find me. Angela’s nice, she might even say thank you. But if mother gets here first? You’re going to wish you were dead long before she gets around to killing you.”

“Very nice, Einin.” Miss Conti smiled. “Maybe you can convince Vishkar to hire you, in a few years.”

One of the guards by the door held a hand to his ear, listening intently to a comm. “Boss?” he said, “I think my communicator just died.”

Miss Conti looked exasperated. “Did you forget to charge it again?”

“No,” said the other guard, “Mine just went out too. Must be some kind of glitch.”

It was Einin’s turn to smile, and she gave her best impression of her mother’s laugh. “So much for your chance to choose. It’s fifty-fifty now; I wonder which of my progenitors will find you first?”

***

“Hold the stairs!” Mercy clung to the corners, slipping back into the fray just long enough to focus her staff on Winston. Another group of soldiers had found their intrusion, and were pouring through the hallway of the decommissioned military base that Vishkar was using. Winston roared in rage, charging through three men and slamming the whole pile into a wall as Tracer wound around him, firing her pistols at the two behind. She blinked out as they turned to fire back, reappearing next to Moira without a scratch as bullets ate through the wall behind where she’d never really been.

Moira was a terror in the field, giving and taking life in equal measure. Her right hand dragged violet smoke from the men that Winston had pinned, while the machine at her back vacuumed it up and converted it, spraying it back out the left as a yellow-gold mist that knit together the gorilla’s injuries just as quickly as he could take them. Sombra blinked into existence behind the last of the group, put her pistol to a soldier’s back and shot point-blank, then disappeared as quickly as she’d come.

They pressed forward, counting every second before the opposition could get properly organized. The Enforcement had nearly sixty members, from what Sombra had found; enough that if they worked together, one strike team of five would be overmatched. But in tiny pockets, cut off from communication? They fell like bowling pins.

Just a little further now, if their information was correct. The four others were around the stairs and down the corner, but Mercy took a moment to pass her staff across the bodies on the floor. Some of them would die, there was nothing she could do about that, but with a little help from her nanites there was a chance a few of them might make it.

Conscience sated, she rushed down the stairs, half-floating with the Valkyrie suit, and nearly made it round the corner when she felt her momentum suddenly stop and reverse. Something had grabbed her by the wing, snapping her roughly back against the wall. She grunted into her comm, temporarily breathless.

Miss Conti was at the other end of the mechanical whip that pinned her, a shock pistol in the other hand. Angela grabbed the whip to free it from her wings, then pulled hard as the ex-bodyguard lined up a shot. It hit low, numbing her legs.

In a blink, Tracer was there, twin pistols blazing. She was aiming wide intentionally, given their promise to Sombra, but the distraction gave Mercy a chance to shake off the stun. As Conti tried to aim, Mercy closed the gap, bringing her staff down on the woman’s head with a disconcerting crack. She fell like a rock, and Mercy took a long moment to think about whether she deserved a spray of nanites to ensure she’d live through any brain damage.

_Maybe,_ thought Mercy, ignoring her name, _whatever Sombra has in mind will be worse than a brain injury._ She gave Conti a boost, but left her where she’d fallen.

“Thanks, Lena.”

“Anytime, love!” With a tiny salute, Tracer was gone again, and Mercy broke into a run to catch up.

“Help! I’m in here!” The voice was faint as she ran past, but familiar, coming from a branch of the corridor the group had skipped. “Mother! Angela!”

“Back here, to the north!” Mercy said over the comm, “I think I’ve heard her.”

Moira was at her side almost instantly, appearing in a cloud of black-violet smoke from who-knew-where. Neither of them said a word: Mercy pointed, they both moved. The one man in the hallway was oozing smoke the instant Moira saw him, and Mercy tried the only door as he was falling to the ground.

Inside was a tiny room, bare but for a single hanging light and a nine-year-old tied to a chair. She was more pale than she should be, and had the start of a bruise forming across her face, but she was grinning with delight.

When everyone else arrived, Moira was rushing forward and cutting through the ropes with her claw-like nails. She held her daughter close, and for once didn’t care who saw her crying.


	10. X: Farewell by Starlight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And here, at last, is the end of it! Thank you again to everyone who's left kudos and comments, they've really brightened my day. I'm really glad to hear people have enjoyed the story as much as I enjoyed writing it :)

It was a little gauche, wearing the same dress to two galas in a row, but Angela had only packed the one. The Oasis celebration on Sunday evening had apparently spared no expense, especially when compared to the official conference event. They’d set up a series of tents outside in the hotel grounds, with intricately geometric collapsable ceilings and golden cloth that mirrored the city’s look and feel; sleek modern construction mixed with the historic, mathematical beauty of arabic architecture. A sort of portable consulate, carefully designed to enhance the city’s self-image of a technological utopia. Inside were plates full of delicate bites of food, good wine, and even better fresh juices, with a row of bartenders ready to mix the latter into a variety of signature cocktails, non-alcoholic and otherwise. The main tent held the Oasis delegates, three of whom were handing out data pads to registered doctors and researchers from around the world. In a few months, they’d use the information on those pads to save hundreds of lives and improve thousands more, all thanks to the generosity of the gilded desert city. 

Einin was dressed up in another Oasis-style suit, chatting away in fluent Arabic with a pair of doctors who’d just picked up a copy of the city’s free medical information packet. She’d refused to be parted from Moira by anyone but Angela the night before, who’d stayed over late to help soothe her to sleep. But tiny minds bounced back quickly, and she was already acting as though the abduction had never happened, though Moira had promised she’d get a thorough psychiatric evaluation back home. 

And then, there was Moira herself. She was back in her Ministerial finery, but with different coloured robes and hair. God, she made a terrible blonde. The outfit was graceful and architectural, and Angela could see now how it was designed to make its wearer seem more than human, like a piece of the city come to life. But with everything they’d been through these last few days, everything she’d seen, Angela stared right through the Minister of Genetics, and the controversial Dr. O'Deorain, and just saw Moira.

A few hours into the party, Angela stepped away for some much-needed air. She’d found a spot just a little distance from the lights, where an old stone wall looked out over the hotel’s empty pool and a sky full of stars. Since she’d made no secret of her escape, it came as no surprise when a few minutes later she heard footsteps from behind. Moira had taken off her crown and left it somewhere, leaving her head bare and her hands free to carry a pair of sparkling drinks.

She gave one wordlessly to Angela, and joined her in watching the stars. “You know,” Angela ventured, “I like the red hair better.”

“On me? So do I.” Moira took a sip from her drink, and Angela followed suite. It was not just bubbly, it glittered, laced through with some finely powdered mineral substance that caught the light from the party as it swirled in the glass. It tasted of pineapple, and something else. “Will you come visit us, Angela? In Oasis?”

“I might. I’d like to. It would be nice to see Einin again.” And, if she was being honest, certain other people. “But I’m going to be busy, these next few months. I think… I think I have some work to do, with old friends.”

Moira smiled. “I never did like the Petras Act. Small-minded government oversight.”

“What about you, and your friends?”

“They’re still… useful to me. And I, to them. I don’t foresee us parting ways, not yet.” Moira put her drink down, steepled her fingers as she rested her elbows on the stone wall. “I’ve never stopped trying to improve the world, Angela. All my research, all my work, it’s all for the advancement of humanity. The greater good.”

“I wish that were true,  _ häsli _ .” Angela let her head rest on the other woman’s shoulder, taking what joy she could from the moment. “It starts that way, it always does, but once you begin a project? Once you start needing to be right? That’s when the science takes you, wherever it wants to go. Until you learn how to be wrong, you’re always going to lose your way.”

“You could be there to remind me. Guide me.” Moira paused. “But I suppose we’ve tried that experiment before.”

“Yes, we have.” And here they were again, not quite a perfect fit together. But nothing in life was ever quite perfect, as much as Moira kept trying to make it otherwise. Maybe what they had could still be enough, enough for something. “I will come visit you, though. You and Einin. And if you get in trouble, I’ll be there. Always.”

“You have the same promise from me,  _ mo chuisle.  _ I will protect you, as best as I am able.”

Moira kissed her again, and it was soft and sweet. And then it wasn’t, it was breathless, it was long fingers in her hair and claw-like nails down the back of her neck. “You know,” Angela gasped, “I think there was an unlocked supply closet, just inside the north entrance.”

“Or your room, if we can make it that far.”

“With you leaving in the morning?” Angela purred, and took Moira by the collar. “Let’s be impatient.”

 


End file.
